


Now and At the Hour of Our Death

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was originally a prompt from Elenduen for me in which I told her I didn’t have time at the moment to do.<br/>So I told her to do one first, which she did entitled: “Pray for Us”. She did an excellent job with it too.<br/>So this is my take on it.<br/>Since Elenduen used the Hail Mary prayer in her story, I used one of the sentences in it for the title of mine.<br/>Her prompt to me was for at the end of The Prodigal, instead of Rochefort attempting to rape Queen Anne, he goes for d’Artagnan instead.<br/>So you’re actually looking at another of my d'Art in distress stories. LOL!<br/>Of course, as usual for me, there is nothing really graphic in this story.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now and At the Hour of Our Death

  
_Royal Palace – Outside of Queen Anne’s Chambers_

Having been summoned to the palace, d’Artagnan thought he’d have time to chat with Constance after he had carried out his duties and see how she had been faring. So when he had finished, d’Artagnan was informed by one of the Red Guards on duty that Constance was with the queen in her chambers. But when d’Artagnan approached the Queen’s state rooms he found it odd that there weren’t any other guards around anywhere. Still he waited for nearly ten minutes after he knocked on the door before he took any action, afraid to walk in unannounced. But with no activity whatsoever going in or out of the room, d’Artagnan decided it couldn’t hurt to knock again. They may not have heard it the first time he thought.

Not receiving an answer d’Artagnan took matters into his own hands feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. So he cautiously opened the door but could see that the inner rooms were empty with no sign of the queen nor Constance. Now he realized this couldn't be good. Turning back around to leave d’Artagnan, taken unaware from behind was clobbered on the back of his head and dropped like a stone to the hard floor, a shadow falling over his body where he lay.

Salivating over the boy on the ground, Rochefort dragged the unconscious youth into the queen’s bedroom.

++++

_Her Majesty’s bedroom_

Moaning softly as he started to awaken, d’Artagnan slowly opened heavy eyelids only to encounter Comte Rochefort’s hungry gaze on him. It was then he realized it was a bed upon which he lay. Overcome suddenly by a bout of nausea d’Artagnan turned on his side and hanged his head over the bed to dry heave several times with nothing coming out, though he would have felt better for it if he had expelled the contents of his stomach. It was in this position that d’Artagnan spotted Queen Anne on the floor insensible. When he started to move off the bed to give her aid, d’Artagnan was roughly thrown onto his back with Rochefort’s heavy body falling onto his own.

Panting, d’Artagnan tried to heave the man off of him but to no avail. The knock to his head made him dizzy in the extreme. No doubt he had a concussion which would later have Aramis clucking around him like a mother hen. Come to think on it, d’Artagnan doubted that Athos or Porthos would be pleased about it either.

“As you can see, d’Artagnan,” Rochefort grinned as he leaned down to run his tongue down the lad’s cheek, making his way over to the boy’s plump lips as he licked away at them like one would a sweet delicacy, "I arranged to have you sent up here," Rochefort breathed heavily on the younger man's face. He barely took a moment to glance over at Queen Anne lying helplessly on the floor. “She just got in the way.”

“The queen better not be harmed,” d’Artagnan hissed in anger, even though he was hardly capable of saving Her Majesty, seeing as he had his own issues to deal with.

Backhanding the mouthy Musketeer, Rochefort tsked tsked, upset at himself for marring d’Artagnan’s beautiful skin. Seeing the bruise already blossoming across the lad’s face, he brushed his thumb gently over the now tender flesh. “Don’t make me angry, d’Artagnan,” Rochefort’s greedy eyes roamed over the boy’s loveliness, “you wouldn’t like what you see.”

“I _don’t_ like what I see _now_!” D’Artagnan spit directly into Rochefort’s evil face, not worried over the consequences to himself in the heat of the moment. His own body then began to betray him as it trembled in fear. Feeling the comte fumbling at d’Artagnan’s breechs, he bucked in earnest. Still, he couldn’t shake the man off. Rochefort was stronger than he gave the man credit for. But if help didn’t arrive soon, d’Artagnan was afraid what harm the deranged man would do to him.

Grabbing both of d’Artagnan’s arms, Rochefort held them above the boy's head with one hand. This way he had easy access to removing the young Musketeer’s clothing with his free hand. Realizing there was no way he could pull off d’Artagnan’s boots, Rochefort simply ripped the boy’s pants off leaving the lad in only his smalls.

Once Rochefort had completed that task he used the weight of his body to prevent the youngster from escaping as he tore off d’Artagnan’s doublet next and then the boy's shirt. His eyes gleamed bright as Rochefort delighted in the slightly muscle-toned chest that was exposed for his pleasure. Taking advantage of this, Rochefort began to play with d’Artagnan’s nipples watching as they peaked erect for his pleasure as the lad's struggles against him increased.

“When I get free of you... _you are a dead man_!” d’Artagnan screamed his outrage at him.

“Bold words, mon young ami, considering your own precarious position underneath me,” Rochefort chuckled. Then he slammed his mouth down hard on top of d’Artagnan’s own, muffling any further words the brat was leveling at him. Sticking his tongue down d’Artagnan’s throat as far as it could go, Rochefort was pleased to hear the boy's gagging sounds.

The more d’Artagnan pushed against Rochefort’s body, the stronger the man seemed to become in his unhinged state. He honestly felt that there may not be any hope for rescue when d’Artagnan heard a loud gasp fill the room.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” King Louis roared in fury, taking in the obscene tableau he had innocently walked in on with an equally stunned Constance by his side.

Using this unexpected interruption to his advantage while Rochefort was taken by surprise, d’Artagnan had spied Queen Anne on her knees having fortunately come to her senses again. Holding out his right arm towards her he stretched, feeling the strain on his muscles until his fingertips touched the object she slipped into his hand. Not caring what it was only that it appeared sharp enough to do what needed done, d’Artagnan wielded it like his main gauche and with all his might stabbed it into Rochefort’s left eye.

Then several things seemed to happen at once. D’Artagnan heard His Majesty once more cry out, this time in distress at spotting his disheveled queen struggling to her feet. The king immediately ran to his wife’s side.

Weak as he was from the blow to his head and face, d’Artagnan was in no shape to fight Rochefort in a duel. Fortunately he didn’t have to as Constance picked up d’Artagnan’s sword from the floor. With an expertise that made d’Artagnan proud of the lessons he had given his good friend, Constance took on Rochefort herself.

But no matter how skilled Constance was she didn’t have enough force behind her attacks to do any damage to her opponent. She ended up in a defensive position for the most part and d’Artagnan worried that the comte would end up running her through as Rochefort’s blade made contact with Constance's arm. Fate though was kind as the dear voice of his mentor pierced the air.

“Stand down, Constance! He’s mine!” Athos shouted, taking her place as she collapsed beside d’Artagnan on the bed, clutching her arm where Rochefort had cut it.

While Athos engaged the comte, Constance cast aside her own pain from her injury to cradle d’Artagnan’s head in her lap. “Mon dieu! Your poor face,” she tenderly touched his cheek.

“You should see the other guy,” d’Artagnan quipped cheekily. Then ruined his show of bravado by shivering.

“You’re going into shock,” Constance murmured, hoping Athos would make quick work of that slimy bastard so that they could tend to d’Artagnan.

As their swords clashed against one another, Athos’ eye caught sight of the pup’s damaged face. He also noticed blood on Constance’s hand where it had come away from the back of d’Artagnan’s head. It just fueled his anger all the more as Athos furiously attacked Rochefort without mercy.

When Athos had the comte on his knees, he pinned Rochefort with eyes full of fire. “Pray to whatever deity you believe in for this is the last breath you will ever draw!” Running his sword clean through the man’s black heart, Athos watched in satisfaction as Rochefort collapsed upon the floor to lie in a pool of his own dark blood, lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Is he finally dead?” Standing over Rochefort, King Louis prodded the body with his foot while one arm anchored his shaken wife to his side.

“I do believe he is, sire,” Athos dipped his head respectfully. Directing his gaze toward the white face of Queen Anne, Athos asked, “Are you well, Your Majesty?”

“I think so,” Queen Anne could barely stand to look at Rochefort’s dead form. “He placed a cloth over my nose and mouth and then I knew no more.”

“Ah!,” Athos nodded in understanding, knowing that Rochefort used chloroform on her.

“It is to d’Artagnan’s care we should all look too,” Queen Anne suggested in concern as she glanced over at the pale face of her young, brave Musketeer.

Seeing the state his protégé was in Athos wished he could kill Rochefort all over again and make the comte suffer more than he already had. Watching Constance get up to make room for him to sit beside the pup, Athos smiled his thanks at her.

“Has the room stopped spinning?” d’Artagnan asked his mentor as he squinted up at him through unfocused eyes.

“I am greatly afraid if you had to ask that question, child,” Athos remarked drolly, “you’re much in need of Aramis’ skilled hands.”

Sighing, d’Artagnan’s head hung down as if it were too heavy for him to hold up. Closing his eyes briefly, they flew wide open instantly at the ungentle tapping of his cheek by Athos.

“No sleeping,” Athos commanded sharply. “No doubt you have a concussion.”

“Oh there’s no _doubt_ about it,” d’Artagnan leaned weakly, body still shaking, against Athos’ solid shoulder. “I believe Queen Anne’s going to need to replace her rug.” Feeling Athos body shake with silent laughter at his statement, d’Artagnan peeked out through his bangs at him.

“You should think more about yourself and less on that blood stained rug,” Athos then kissed the top of d’Artagnan’s head. “By the way, what did you stab Rochefort’s eye with?”

Realizing he still held the weapon tightly in his grip, d’Artagnan blinked at it several times and then held it out for Athos' inspection.

When d'Artagnan opened his palm for Athos to stare at the bloody item, he was astonished to see what it turned out to be. "A woman's hair accessory can be as deadly as any weapon created by man."

"Athos," d'Artagnan whispered, "I really don't feel at all well."

"You lay right down there, d'Artagnan," Queen Anne ordered gently. "We will see to it that our personal physician takes great care of you."

"Want Aramis," d'Artagnan complained softly so that only Athos heard his request.

Lips quirking upward, Queen Anne overheard the boy anyway. "Aramis is on his way here as we speak," she smiled. "So rest easy."

"Can I pass out now?" D'Artagnan didn't know why he bothered asking because it was out of his control anyway as the world darkened for him until he knew no more.

"Merde!" Athos swore as he still held the boy in his arms. Now that d'Artagnan passed out, Athos carefully placed the unconscious child down on the bed. Feeling Constance's quiet presence by his side, Athos felt her small hand slip into his own.

"I could have taken him you know," Constance smiled coyly into Athos' grim features. But the smile tugging at his lips was worth her effort.

"I have no doubt in your capabilities," Athos commented. "After all you were trained by a Musketeer," his gaze rested on the youthful face oblivious to their presence, "who one day will be the greatest of them all."

The End


End file.
